Where Is My Mind

(Image by Loretta Lux)

Sometimes we fight, my brain and I. Such a dichotomy between what I want to do versus what I am able to do because my mind won't let me go. Every detail of every day has a fight.

Does any one understand what it's like to have to fight your brain to get up out of bed? To have a desire to continue? To even want to face life?

This doesn't mean that there aren't things that bring me joy...it just means that I have to FIGHT my brain to do those things. Do you know what it's like to have to fight with yourself to do something you LIKE to do?

Everyday I have to fight a battle with my brain. Every morning I have to make myself get up and go. Every single day. No wonder I'm tired. No wonder I dream of finding a quietness that never ends. No wonder I don't care who comes or goes because no one really understands.

I am so tired of fighting this battle. Can't anyone step in and fight it for me?

Or at least with me?

Jesus the Mexican Boy Gave Me a Ride on the Back of His Bike

You never know when you might be someone's hero. You never know who might need you that day. You never know how many peoples' hearts cry out to be rescued--and you could be their savior.

Yesterday the sunshine warmed the blacktop into bubbling tar. My feet ached from the heat and I felt that it would be impossible for me to go on. My mind wandered in to realms of giving up, calling it quits, just lying down and letting nature do its worse.

My eyes closed and I longed for the comfort of the forever-rest. Suddenly a shadow came past my aching eyelids. I slowly opened my eyes. There was a boy with dark skin. He smiled and, pouring some water into his hand, offered me a drink. Then he picked me up and put me on the back of his bicycle.

Now I follow him wherever he goes.

Flying to Montreal

The last several entries have had a theme--they are song titles and/or lyrics that I found particularly inspiring. This entry, however, is about a dream I had last night. It just goes to prove that no matter how creative I like to think my conscious mind is, my subconscious is far far more interesting.

I was on a tour of a very boring building. We were throwing CD's into the swimming pool and then trying to hit them with other CD's. The tour moved on and I found my friend Dan DJing a show in a kiosk. He came out of the booth and we sat on the floor. Neither of us were wearing shoes. As we sat next to each other, we discovered that if Dan put his foot on mine, we'd move around and around the kiosk like a record. No effort on our part, we just slid across the floor. After a while we both laid down on our stomachs on the floor, still touching feet and we started to fly.

We flew around the city for a bit, getting used to navagating. We discovered that if we put an arm around the other we could go faster and fly smoother. So, we flew to Montreal. It didn't take us long to get there. The first thing we did was scare the crap out of a French-Canadian begging for money on the street. (We may have scared him sober for the rest of his life.) We flew around and discovered big pink fluffy clouds. Then, we decided we'd better head home.

On the way out of Montreal we had to stop at a tourist thing and they wanted us to take a bus home. They made us enter this building and Dan was mad because he knew it would take a lot longer to go home in the bus than if we just flew back. Anyway, while waiting I found the best hat with a monkey on it (and the hat came with a pair of goggles!!) so I was buying it and the guy gave me a hot dog. Well, I didn't want the hot dog and Dan's a vegetarian so I held an auction to sell it. It went for $100,002.00 Now, that's a hot dog!

Finally I got my hat, Dan tricked this guy in to opening a window and we flew away. Dan and I had so much fun flying and talking. We saw the world from a different perspective, we laughed, we talked, and we thouroughly enjoyed each other's company.

We could only fly because we held on to each other.

Dan, you're a great friend. I love you very much. Thanks for helping me to fly.

So, You're a Touring Band Now...

I always said that if I had children I'd dress them in lederhosen. I guess Dad didn't believe me. When we walked in to his house, he looked at the kids, then at me. I was so proud of my kids, they carried their instruments so carefully. Dad watched them for a moment and smiled. "What's all this then?" he asked.

My five year old chimed in and said, "We're gonna wear these again on Halloween and go as 'The Sound of Music'."

"So," Dad said with a laughing nod of his head, "Should I invest in college savings funds or therapy for the children?"

"You know me, Dad." I said.

"Therapy it is," he answered.

(PS: I don't have kids. This is just a story.)

I Wrote a Song About Your Car

This Entry Dedicated to Brian. And I think I know who you are.

A blue beast rolling down the road making a rumble to rival Armageddon. Don’t need a key to turn it on. You can even leave it running and take the key with you if you want. If you honk the horn the windshield wipers will move.

Look underneath. Not the hood, but underneath the car. It’s held together by reshaped metal coat hangers. Each wire tenuously holding some vital part into place.

Bring blankets with you in the cold because the beast will take the entire drive to warm up. Oh, and just run with the traffic because the speedometer doesn’t work. Well, it occasionally works. It will pop up to tell you how fast you’re going and then it will sink back down to zero and stay there until it gets the whim to tell you again. The car runs. It does. Despite its name: nova. In Spanish, No va: Doesn’t go.

I wrote a song about your car. But I don’t remember the lyrics anymore. But I guess when you get a car for free you can’t really expect much of a song.

Who else but my brother and I are going to save the world from sunshine?

The clouds are alive. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I stand in awe of Nature, her power, her beauty, and her cruelty. There is nothing so totally lacking in prejudice than Nature. She will rain on the rich and the poor. She will give sunshine to black and to white. And finally, she will take it all away with one breath.

My brother and I stand on the edge of the high cement fence and watch as the clouds turn from grey to green. We shout out to those walking by to run for cover. We have no need for cover, my brother and I, we are made of different fabric. We are the dark that dwells deep and runs rampant through it all. We have no control over nature, but where it comes to destroy we will be there.

Mudslides bringing down million dollar homes. Tornadoes running through poor trailer parks. Earthquakes giving terror to all, shaking, cracking, tearing down what men think they have permanently erected.

It’s been so long that we’ve stood and shouted that I’ve even forgotten my brother’s name. I’ve even forgotten if he’s my brother by birth or by destiny. Look into the darkening sky, feel the nothingness that is you. Who else but my brother and I are going to save the world from sunshine?

Hammer Without a Master

Potential energy,right? The power something possesses while it just sits there waiting to be used. The sound of it is powerful: potential energy.

I am the epitome of potential energy. I can build worlds. I can make boys into men. I can teach girls to be strong! I can!

No one wants me. Here I am composed entirely of potential, but no one will take me into his hands. No one will discover that which I am capable of.

Potential energy. I sit here. I age. I rust. Potential energy crumbles into uselessness.